Draco Lucius Malfoy was dying. Not physically, but mentally. Mentally dying. Or at least he wished he were dying. Physically. Some times he could picture his own death. A pale body lying twisted in a pool of blood, a knife in one hand, the deep, red cut on the other. Some times he could almost feel the water tugging him down, taking his breath away and not letting him up. Some times when he forgot to breath in those few seconds he wished to cease to exist, he could believe it was true. And he saw it everywhere; at his lowly job at the local pub; when he walked home in the evening; when he lay in bed; or climbed up stairwells. He could see himself falling, hair rushing upwards while he went down, down, down, turning slightly and could almost hear the crunch of his body hitting the stone floor below.

He wrote about death in his many journals that he had picked up over the years. He must have had hundreds by now, all sitting in boxes categorized by year. He would sit for hours and write and write and write; filling up the sometimes lined paper in the 200 page notebooks he got. They were all beautiful, all different shapes and sizes with more colors than anyone could ever imagine. Everything in his head would go down in the journals; every dream, hope, and fantasy. Everything that was noteworthy to him was inscribed in the paper and tucked away either in its box on whatever surface was near him at the time.

Some day, he told himself, he would go through all the books. He would read all his stories and try to make some sense of it. Maybe he would learn something about himself in the process or find that he did not want to die or that he very much did. Of course, he had time to do it, but the whole ordeal would take so much effort and though Draco was used to manual labor, with his wand snapped and no spell to allow his journals to read themselves to him, it just seemed like too much for him.

Other than writing and working for five hours every day, he did not do much of anything. It was easier just to sit and stare at his blank walls or just sleep. He had no friends nor did he want to go out or get a drink or anything. He paid the monthly toll for the rooms he now occupied and just sat there.

He stopped buying glass cups and bowls a while ago. After throwing so may of them at the wall that the floor was drowning in fragments and the neighbors came knocking, he got plastic bottles instead. He did not eat regular food anymore, mostly crackers with bits of cheese though sometimes a random nutrition bar or a head of lettuce with a few small vegetables. Maybe he would die of starvation, he would not mind if that were the case, in fact, he welcomed it. But the meager meals had sustained him so far and he did not think they would fail anytime soon.

When he slept, he dreamed. He dreamed about how his father had abused him and allowed the Death Eaters to use him as they pleased. He felt the Dark Mark being burned into his arm without mercy and could hear the laughter from the crowd around him. He saw Harry Potter's eyes boring into his, begging for his life and asking him silently to not give away his position and then he saw them narrow in disgust when he had squeaked and ran away, feeling the eyes trained on his retreating back. He felt the hatred and the torture and the pain over and over again and there was nothing he could do about it. No medication that he had ever heard of could cure nightmares and he was banned from using all things magical. So he woke up screaming, dripping in sweat with his body tangled in the off-white bed sheets that he used as blankets. The neighboring people had long since gotten used to their wake up call and no longer came to see what was the problem.

When he was younger, he read Muggle fairy tale books behind his father's back, thanks to his now dead house-elf. After a session with his father, the elf would come into the room and tend to Draco, cleaning the wounds, helping him get untied from the way too big bed and allowed him to cry on her tiny, ugly shoulder. Then after he had calmed down some, she helped him lie down again, putting pillows around and beneath him, making sure he was as comfortable as he could get. She then took out a small book he had hidden under her rag of a dress and proceeded read to him about dragons and princesses and daring princes with shields and armor of shinning metal. Draco used to believe that these stories were telling the truth. He used to believe in 'happily ever after' and 'true love's first kiss' and happiness. He knew very well now that that was definitely not the case.

He used to imagine himself with a beautiful woman at his side watching the sunrise or set or looking over miles of rolling hills covered in multicolored flowers. He mapped out details of a tiny castle tucked in a magical forest far from the rest of the world. He saw beasts and other creatures as his companions and friends on his majestic journeys across far off countries and blue-green seas. He could see himself covered in silk robes and a small crown that fit him just right with a green jewel sparkling from it. And then he grew up. He realized that those were stuff of fairy tales and that the real world was pain and torture and sorrow. He understood what his father really was and what he himself was supposed to do when he matured. So whenever he thought about a storybook ending, he mentally lashed himself, condemning himself to hate and fear rather than love and hope.

His house elf stopped reading to him when he started asking terrible questions and laughing at the hardships of the characters and scoffing at their weaknesses and worries. She wanted him to be happy, but had no idea what to do about it, so she healed him, made sure he was relatively comfortable, and left. No one saw how broken he was inside, until he met Harry Potter.

The night before that fateful day at Diagon Alley, Draco's father had given him another lesson. He had hugged one of the house elves and he had to learn his place. A Malfoy never socializes with servants or peasants or house elves. Draco had gone to sleep sore and bloody, tears soaking into his sheets and pillows. The next morning at Madam Malkins, a shaggy black haired boy came up to him and looked so ragged and common that Draco did not know what to think. He was not supposed to talk to people like that, but the boy was going to Hogwarts, right? So he tried to have a conversation with the boy. It did not go well and for the first time in his life Draco found that the boy had no idea who he was or his status on the social scale. His father had been wrong. But then the boy walked away and Draco finished getting his robes and left the store, pondering loyalty and statuses.

The on the train to Hogwarts, he found out the boy was Harry Potter. The moment they looked at each other, Draco knew something was different about this boy. They fought like there was no tomorrow, but Potter never started them, it was always Draco. Long ago he did not understand, but now, years after the war, Draco knew why. He had been afraid. He did not completely understand why, but he knew that Potter understood more about him than he was comfortable with. There was something in the way the boy looked at him that made him feel like he could see past the sneers and the rude comments into the hurt and pain and abuse. Potter knew he was broken, weak, and dirty and there was nothing Draco could do about it.

Sometimes Draco had dreams about Potter. Potter was either beating him up, telling him everything was his entire fault and that he deserved to be tortured and killed without mercy. Other times, Harry was caressing his face and body, whispering reassuring words into his ear. On those nights Draco woke up in a cold sweat, disoriented, and dazed. They did not happen often but when they did, Draco had no idea what to do with himself. Potter hated him, he was sure, but the Harry in his dreams did not. When those dreams came about, Draco called in sick at work and stayed at home, writing the dream down in great detail and thinking. He never made much sense out of it, but it was a welcome break from the hustle and bustle of the bar.


A few weeks after Christmas, Draco was behind the bar, waiting for someone to come up and order a drink. The place was empty except for a table of four men towards the front of the bar and a huge hag of a woman in the farthest corner. Finally, not knowing what to do with himself, Draco took a washcloth and began wiping the taps and surface in front of him, making them gleam in the dull light. One of the men called for him to get them another round and he complied, moving slowly but purposefully. Everything fell silent once more and Draco absently picked at a small scratch on the wood.

Suddenly the door creaked open and a short man with a shock of black hair walked in quietly. Draco paid him no mind as he drew invisible images on the surface with his finger. The man cleared his throat and Draco looked up, straight into the green emerald eyes that he remembered so well. He looked away and mumbled,

"What can I get for you, sir?" Draco grabbed the neared glass and played with it, waiting for an answer.

"Just some water, Draco. Thank you." Draco nodded to the floor and scooped up ice into the glass and pushed it under the tap. He took out a napkin and placed it on the bar and the glass on top of it. Potter thanked him and sat down on one of the stools. Draco moved to the other side of the bar and tried to calm himself. Why had Potter called him Draco? Why was he here?

Again, there was quiet. The men at the table stood up, paid and walked out, one of them stumbling a little as he went. The woman in the corner did nothing and Potter sipped his water slowly. Draco stared at the wall, just wanting nothing more than to escape, hoping two o'clock would come faster. Finally at one, the hag called for her bill, paid and shuffled out, mumbling to herself as she went. The only people left in the bar were Draco and Potter, one calm and the other trying to control himself. Potter spoke first.

"Draco, can I talk to you?" Draco jumped, but walked over to him and leaned on the bar. Pulling himself together as much as possible, he pulled the best sneer he could onto his face; he looked up at Potter and answered.

"What, Potter? Come to laugh some more? Was it not enough attending my trial? Was it not enough that you took away my wand and money and dignity? What do you want? Because I have enough trouble in my lie right now. If you are here to yell, scream, hit, kill me, or anything, please do it already. Make it fast please, that is my only wish." Draco looked down again and waited for whatever was to come. Nothing happened. He waited some more and more until he was sure it had been ages and lifted his head again, dreading it as he did.

Potter was staring at him, his beautiful eyes filled with an emotion that Draco could not place. Draco bit his lip and waited. Potter leaned his head on his hands and sighed loudly.

"You would think that I wanted to hurt you." His body shook slightly before looking up at Draco again, "I'm so sorry. About everything. I mean it."

"I don't understand you, Potter. What are you sorry about? Are you going to hurt me? I'd rather you did it sooner than later, you know. Please, just get it over with. It'll be easier for me... unless you want to torture me… well; it's up to you, Potter. I'm waiting."

"I'm not going to hurt you Draco. I'm sor-"

"Why are you calling me Draco? You never have before and you have no right! You don't know me, you don't know what I am or what I'm capable of." Draco was angry now. Who was Potter to come into his life again? Weren't the dreams enough? What did he want? Nothing made much sense at all.

"I thought it was ok to call you by your name, I will stop if you want. As for the reason I am here… new evidence has been found. We found out about the abuse of your father and the aurors think that you were forced into taking the Dark Mark, so…" Draco stopped paying attention, flashes of memories flitted before his eyes. His father's face too close to his, breathing into his mouth, placing his hands in places Draco never wanted anyone to touch. Voldemort laughing at Draco as he was hung from the ceiling and used by his father in front of the other Death Eaters for their enjoyment. A wand pressing against his left forearm and unimaginable pain shooting though it, leaving a scull and snake tattoo that could never be erased.

Draco's head was hurting. The images in his mind would not stop and he felt sick. He clutched his stomach and backed away from the bar, breathing heavily though his mouth. His back hit the wall behind him and he slid to the floor, trying to hold himself together. He was vaguely aware of Potter running around the bar and kneeling in front of him, caressing his cheek and whispering comforting words into his ear.

Draco had no idea how he got there, but one second he was pressed against the wall and the next he was pulled into Potter's arms and being hugged. Potter placed a hand on his head and guided it to his shoulder. He reached down and grabbed Draco's hands and pulled them around his waist. Draco began to cry and Potter let him, petting his hair slowly and holding him closer.

When Draco found his voice and stopped sobbing, he asked the question both of them knew he was going to ask,

"Why are you doing this? Why do you care? I don't understand…" Potter sighed and pulled back so that Draco was sitting on his own again. Draco moved his hands into his lap and waited for Potter to answer.

"I don't know. It's just… the moment I heard what happened to you, I wanted to save you. It doesn't make much sense, since what happened to you already happened. I wised we hadn't been 'enemies' and that I could have helped you when I had the chance. I just had to see you and I heard that you were working and living as a Muggle. It took me a while, but finally I tracked you down and here I am. I don't know why I care but I do. I want to be here for you. Please let me."

"I don't need your help, Potter. I'm fine. I honestly do no care for the wizarding world anymore. Even if they manage to clear my name without too much of an uproar, I would not return. It's pointless. So go back to your little friends and fans or whatever, and leave me alone. I'm sorry you had to see me like this but…"


"No. Leave me be, Potter. I mean it. I will not hesitate to hurt you if you try anything." Draco stood up, straitened his clothes and waked away from Potter. He took the keys from his pocket and looked pointedly at Potter until he got up as well and walked slowly to the door.

"If you ever nee-"

"I won't"

"But, still, just-"


"For Merlin's sake, here's my number," Potter handed over a small white card with digits pressed into it with dark blue pen, "Call me. Even if you don't need me. Maybe we could talk to catch up or something… I don't know, just keep in touch, yeah?" Draco shot him a look of utmost disgust and opened the door out for the other man rudely.

"In your dreams, Potter." Potter nodded slightly and stepped out into the night, taking a few steps before disapparating. Draco stared at the spot where he had just been for a few seconds before mentally shaking himself. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The stream of profanities filled his mind as he walked back to the apartment, cursing his every thought and feeling and reaction; cursing Potter as well, to the darkest, most terrible pits of hell- to where Voldemort was surely residing in.


It's June 5. Draco is looking out the window trying to remember his last happy birthday, but nothing comes to mind. He remembers laughing at his friends at school saying that they weren't good enough to go to his parties or celebrate with him; that they were unworthy. But he also remembers how inside he wishes that his father was not the way he was and that he could have people over his house over the summer break. He remembers all the times his father told him how special he was and that he was only his. That he belonged to Lucius Malfoy- no one else. Draco was his special boy and he would be treated appropriately. Lessons on how to be a man that became lessons on the bed full of blood and tears filled Draco's mind as he looked at the street below. He was never good enough- not even on his birthday.

Draco moves away from the window, not seeing that Harry Potter is making his way up the street. He makes his way over to the small couch and sits elegantly as he was taught many years ago. He reaches for his latest journal, already halfway full though he only started it at the beginning of the week. So many memories and dreams come up and he writes it all down, it's not his fault. He will get a new journal soon.

He grabs the pen from the coffee table and places it on the top of the page, just under the first line. He is unsure what to write about since he has written everything he could think of already, but he will write them anyway- he cannot afford to loose these memories, no matter how terrifying and dirty they are. So he begins to write, slowly at first, but faster as things go through his mind. Sentences cease to make sense as they are just words that are strung together with meaning only Draco can understand. He jumps when the doorbell rings.

For a split second he thinks that if he opens the door, his father will step through and continue his lessons. But then sense takes over fear and he takes a deep breath. Calm yourself, Draco. He does not bother to peer through the small window in the door to see who his intruder is. Instead, he turns the knob quickly and holds his breath. It is Harry Potter, in the flesh. Draco exhales as he backs away, bringing his hands up in front of his chest.

"Potter? I told you to leave me alone." Draco looks away from Potter to the white walls surrounding him like a prison, or a hospital. It feels like they are closing in on him. The journal lays open on the couch and Draco makes a move to close it, but Potter is quicker. Potter skims through the page Draco had just written on, this forehead creasing in a surprisingly cute way- Draco wants to smooth it out and kiss the confusion away- wait. What? Potter looks up at him, pity and despair clear in his eyes though they are clouded with that emotion that Draco again can't place.

"Draco…" Draco is rooted to the floor, staring at Potter who is moving toward him now, one arm outstretched. Draco wants to move away, but he can't. He doesn't understand, but suddenly a hand- a soft, warm hand- captures his face, holding it gently but firmly. Draco must look into Potter's eyes from this angle, though he tries not to. Potter knows. He knows. Oh Merlin. And then there is black.


Several months after that little episode, Harry has been coming to Draco's apartment often. At first he was unwelcome and there was always an uncomfortable feel to the air, making it even worse. The two men have become closer however. Sometimes Draco opens up about the things he remembers or he lets Harry look though some of his journals. He was afraid that Harry would find something wrong with him and never return, though he did not understand why. Harry knew. Harry had always known. Since the day they met, Harry had known that Draco was different from the other wizards and witches he met. At first he did not understand what the fascination with the blond haired man was, but after years of fighting and then the war and then finally understanding a little of what was going on during that time period, Harry found out more about himself and Draco.

Harry could think back to the days of school when he and Malfoy would share looks of disgust and hatred and then later on, fear. He can think back to sixth year when he had been obsessed with finding out as much as he could about Malfoy but not comprehending why he cared so much about Draco being a Death Eater. Hermione would roll her eyes and Ron would scoff and moan. Ginny would try to take his mind off it with kisses and sex- not that it helped much. Harry hated it.

But finally after the war and trying to get back together with Ginny- ending in scandal and the realization that he was gay- he was not really sure about anything anymore. When he looked back at times at school he wondered if maybe he had a little crush on Draco. But Draco had disappeared from the wizarding world by that time, seeing as he had no wand or money with no friends to help him and Harry never got a chance to talk to him. So life went on. And then on Christmas only a few years later, a journal was found. Lucius Malfoy had kept it during the calm years between the first war and the second war. Descriptions of abuse and molestation littered the pages, complete with personal feelings and lists of things to get or change or do. Harry, having read every single line of it at least a dozen times, felt sick and empty inside. The small part of his heart that unknowingly had longed for Draco became bigger and bigger until Harry realized he needed to talk to the man and went to find him. And that had been a new beginning for both of them.

Harry visited about every other day. It was a long journey, consisting of apparating three times just to get back to 12 Grimmauld Place though he said he did not mind one bit. Draco always felt uneasy about this arrangement and told Harry he should spend the night, so he could apparate in the morning when there was more light and it was safer. Harry, taking aback by this invitation, accepted and they went back to their regular routine.

After Harry rang the bell, Draco would head to the kitchen and make tea or coffee, depending on his mood. (Harry forced Draco to have these two things always in the house along with other foodstuffs when he realized that Draco was barely eating a thing.) While Draco was moving around preparing the cups, Harry would select a journal to read. Once Draco placed a tray of tea and/or coffee on the coffee table and sat down beside Harry, Harry would open the journal from the very beginning and would read it aloud. Sometimes it was hard for Draco; sometimes it made him feel a whole lot better. After the two or three hours it took to get through it, they would discuss. It was not uncommon that Draco would break down at some point and Harry would comfort him as best he could until the former Slytherin was calm and they resumed their talk.

Harry would often throw in things that he were feeling in response to Draco's writing or would voice aloud his own memories. Draco always loved it when he did. He felt like he was being let into some kind of secret universe and that it was sacred and that he was special. Harry would say things that Draco had never thought possible and Draco revised his mental image of Harry a little more- making him more godlike than human.

After the two men reviewed the stories in the journals, they would talk about other things. Harry would tell him about the world, his friends, stupid things the ministry did, and so on. Draco would talk about the Muggles me met at the bar, but mostly he listened or asked questions. Harry did not seem to mind in the slightest, which gave Draco a wide range of opportunities to look at Harry. Sometimes he would focus on Harry's perfect face- tracing over his cheekbones and lips with his eyes or staring deep into the beautiful orbs of green that were Harry's eyes. When Harry wore a tight-ish shirt, Draco was able to see his perfect body sculpted beneath it. He wondered to himself what it would feel like to lay a hand on Harry's muscles and lean in close to nibble on his neck softly but enough to leave a mark.

That night, Harry slept on the couch. They had had a filling meal of almost bland chicken and white rice with asparagus. After setting Harry up with a pillow and a few sheets, Draco retired to his bedroom to change into his pajamas and go to sleep. Harry looked around the white room, breathing through his nose quietly. The silence pressed down on his ears and he tried not to think about it.

Hours passed and Harry still was unable to sleep. He lay flat on his back staring at the ceiling thinking when he heard a strange noise coming from the bedroom. Alarmed, he walked to the room and opened the door. For a moment his breath caught as he stared unashamedly at the beautiful sight before him. Draco Malfoy was lying in his bed, his head, neck, and one arm protruding from the thin sheets with the silvery light from the window cutting across the exposed skin. He looked unreal, a mythical creature- shining and magnificent and absolutely gorgeous. And then he twitched away from whatever was harming him in his dreams and Harry saw the pain etched in his face.

Without thinking, Harry moved across the room and up to the bed. He climbed into it as slowly as possible so he would not wake Draco up with the movements. Draco winced again and turned slightly to the left, causing his body to be angled to face Harry. Harry wrapped his arms around the man next to him and felt him physically relax. The terror and hurt left Draco's featured almost immediately and he cuddled closer. Harry leaned his head against the pillow and closed his eyes. He allowed the stress of the day to flood over him and fell into a very comfortable sleep.


How could he? How could he do this to me? Oh, Merlin, why? Draco could not get these thought out of his head. He was pacing back and forth between his bed and his empty closet. A small suitcase sat on the bed with three columns of boxes full of journals next to it. Harry- no Potter, was a no good, dirty, rotten, prat who deserved everything that happened to him in his life and anything bad from this point in time and on. Damn him to the deepest darkest pits of Hell.

The past few months had been bliss to Draco. After waking up in Harry's arms, their relationship intensified. Harry started sleeping over more often and Draco was able to open up more. They had not had sex, thank Merlin- if they had, Draco would have hated himself right now- but soft kisses and drawn out hugs were enough for them.

And now, Potter had ruined it all. Draco had told him long ago that he did not want to go back to the wizarding world, he did not want his wand back, and he most certainly did not care if they cleared his record or not. He had wanted nothing to do with anything in that world, and now Potter brought it back. Of course, he thought he was doing the right thing, but really he was making things a lot worse then they needed to be, ever.

That morning, the two men awoke to the birds chirping from the open window. They kissed slowly- just enjoying themselves and the warmth. Next they lazily went to the kitchen and had a cup of coffee each. Everything was ruined however by a harsh knock at the door. Draco followed Harry to the door and looked over his shoulder as he opened the door. Kingsley Shacklebolt was standing there looking a bit put out of place with his wand in his hand that seemed to not have decided whether this apartment building was safe or not. Draco's face changed from relaxation to horror and then he ran to the bedroom, grabbing the three columns of boxes on his way.

After packing the suitcase and making sure he had all his journals, Draco started his pacing. He knew the two war heroes were discussing what was going on, but he couldn't care less. He just wanted to get away from the apartment and start a new life far, far away. Thinking fast, Draco began squishing as many journals into a box as he could to conserve space since he had no magic to make the boxes smaller. He could apparate to the train station and then take a train anywhere- that way he could only be traced to the station and no where else.

Finally, the journals were in three boxes and some were in the suitcase. Draco took the suitcase in one hand and balanced the boxes in the other. He shot a glance at the door and then sighed. Fuck them. A second passed and then he was gone.


"Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do, Hermione? I fucking love him. He just left, because Kingsley walked in the door. He didn't even give him a chance to explain why he was there, he just apparated away and took the train somewhere. I have to find him and explain. Why is it so hard for you to understand?" Harry and Hermione were sitting at the Weasley kitchen table. Harry hadn't slept in days and Hermione was annoyed at his lack of hunger and lack of care for his own health. Ron told her to leave him alone, but she would not listen to him and now they were sitting and arguing about it.

"Well, you don't have to loose sleep and not eat over it. If you do find Draco, which I'm not sure you will, I do not think he would appreciate your appearance."

"He's hurting right now and I think I know why, I don't think he'll really are about what I look like."

"Ok, so what do you do if he doesn't want to see you? I think you should just wait for him to find you. He knows where you live." Harry just shook his head and jumped away from the table.

"I'm going to the Muggle police and filling out a missing person form and having them look for him while I check the cities that the train stopped at. Ok, Hermione?" She just grimaced at him and got up from the table as well. They hugged briefly before Harry pulled away and walked to the floo. With a mocking salute, he called out the name of his destination to the flames and disappeared.

The search for Draco began again and Harry could barely contain his annoyance. The Muggle police were coming up with nothing and so was Harry. As the days passed, Harry got more and more anxious and could barely sleep or eat anymore. He quit his off and on job at the Ministry and spent his time walking through streets and looking through phone and address books.

Draco was staying with Andromeda who was taking care of Teddy for Harry since he did not have a stable life even though the war was over. The one time Harry had visited, Draco had been out of the house and Andromeda had not known Harry was looking for Draco. Harry had mainly focused on Teddy and did not talk to Andromeda enough to know that she had a guest staying over. When Draco found out later that night, he assumed Harry could not care less about him and had basically locked himself in the room Andromeda had given him. She did not know what to do other than knock on his door and offer him something to eat, which he usually refused. Andromeda also slid new journals under his door at least once a week.

One day, what felt like years later, though it was only a little less than five months, Ron and Hermione went to visit Andromeda and Teddy with their children Hugo and Rosie. Draco was sitting on the couch writing in his latest journal while Andromeda was making dinner in the kitchen. Teddy was playing with some of his toys on the rug by Draco's feet. When the Weasley family knocked on the door he opened it, not knowing who was behind it. The moment he opened it he regretted it immediately and ran back to his room leaving his journal forgotten on the couch.

Andromeda walked in and hugged the family of four, apologizing for Draco's rudeness.

"I think he has problems with opening doors. I don't really understand it, but he's a lovely boy. Do you know him?" Ron and Hermione looked at each other, wondering how to break it to the woman about the whole situation; finally Ron took her elbow and walked them all to the kitchen. Hugo and Rosie joined Teddy on the carpet. Hermione stole over to the couch quickly and grabbed the forgotten journal before running back to the kitchen where Ron had begun to explain what had been going on for the past half year.

When dinner was ready, Andromeda knocked on Draco's door and asked him if he would like to accompany them for dinner and when he said no, she bugged him until he had no choice but to do exactly what she wanted. Reluctantly, Draco sat himself the table, sitting on the edge of his seat and looking down at his hands in his lap. Ron and Hermione stared at him and Andromeda hummed to herself as she began spooning mashed potatoes onto her plate. The other adults quickly filled their plates as well though no one uttered a single word. Hugo started crying however, having hit his head on the coffee table and Ron went over to see to him.

Hermione, Draco, and Andromeda sat at the table and waited for someone to talk first, Hermione took up the job and turned to Draco.


"Granger-Weasley." They nodded and looked away from each other. Hermione opened her mouth a few times, sort of like a fish, trying to figure out what to say.

"Harry's been looking for you."

"Has he now? Well I'll have you know, the last time he visited his godson, he never asked about me though it was obvious I had been there. Now what were you saying?" Hermione looked at Andromeda and then at her hands.

"Well… do you think you could talk to him? Even for a little bit? He really, really misses you. He hasn't had a regular meal in ages and his sleeping pattern is way off. Maybe if you too just talked…" but Draco was already shaking his head and Hermione stopped talking.

"I trusted him, Granger, and he broke that trust. I don't ever want to see him again."

"Oh, come now, Draco, I'm sure-" Andromeda cut it.

"No, Auntie. Please just leave it. Granger, I'm sorry for ruining your and your husband's evening. I shall retire to my room now. Have a wonderful rest of the meal." With that, Draco stood up and exited the room. Hermione looked confused but jumped up and ran after him.

She opened his door quietly, only to find him on his bed, staring at the ceiling. "Oh, Honey…" she whispered softly and crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed. "Mal-Draco. Listen. I read your journal. I- I- I don't even know what to say. I'm so, so sorry. For everything, really. But can you please just talk to Harry for a little bit. We won't bother you ever again, I promise." He shook his head and turned it so that he was facing the opposite wall. Tentatively, Hermione reached out to him, touching his arm gently. Seeing as he did not move it away, she inched up the bed and pulled him into a hug. It was weird for him giving hugs to a person with breasts, but he dealt with it as best he could and slowly brought his own arms up and hugged her back. For minutes they sat there, content in their own worlds until Ron barged through the door and shattered the moment.

"Malfoy." He nodded then turned to his wife, "Hermione, we have to go home. Rosie fell asleep and Hugo is looking tired even though Teddy is a ball of energy. We can come visit Malfoy tomorrow."

"Ok. I'll be right there, just let me talk to Draco for a second." Ron shrugged and left the room to go gather up his children. "Draco, listen. Harry has been staying at our house on and off for the past few months when he wasn't looking for you. He stayed over tonight so he'll be there tomorrow during the day. Do you think you'll be ok with coming over for lunch? Please, if not for yourself, than for Harry so he can at least have some sort of closure."

Draco leaned against her for a second and closed his eyes, pretending she was his mother before nodding his consent into her bushy hair. She smiled and patted him on the back before standing, shaking his hand, and walking out the door to say goodbye to Andromeda and Teddy. Draco closed his eyes again and curled into a ball, trying to calm the nervous feeling in his stomach.

Ron and Hermione were both in the kitchen; Hermione was putting a pie in the oven while Ron leaned on the counter behind them with a glass of water in one hand. They seemed to be joking around with each other, Hermione throwing smiles over her shoulder every once in a while as she worked. In the other room Rosie was dressing up a magical Barbie doll that was spouting facts about beauty from her unmoving plastic lips and Hugo was running around with a fake wand that was shooting streams of color behind him. The family looked at peace and lovely and warm and Draco wanted it so badly for himself.

Draco boldly stepped away from the window he had been peering through and knocked on the purple-ish brown door, which Ron opened a few moments later. They shook hands and Ron showed them both into the kitchen. Hermione handed Draco a glass of water and proceeded to ask him how he was doing. They exchanged small talk for a short time, smiling slightly at each other and Ron was with the children. The loveliness of the whole thing dissipated immediately when Harry called out from the other room.

"Who's here? Anyone I know?" Hermione sent Draco a meaningful look- telling him that this was his chance to go and talk to Harry alone before he came out of the room to see who the guest was. Draco almost apparated away but Hermione pushed him slightly with her left hand and he set down his glass. He walked to the end of the house, the whole time trying to figure out what exactly to say. Without introduction, Draco opened the door and stepped inside. Harry was facing away from the door with only grey sweatpants on that hung on his hips in the most delicious way. Draco's breath caught in his throat and Harry turned around, probably expecting Hermione or Ron, but seeing Draco, his mouth dropped open and he seemed to crump inwardly.

"Draco?" When he heard his name being asked, Draco's very thoughts seemed to escape his mind and he was left staring. Then suddenly walking forward as if something possessed him, he raised his arms to rest on Harry's naked shoulders. Harry's arms came around his waist and pulled him closer. They said nothing but stared intently into each others eyes, trying to convey a message without talking, and then Draco tilted his head to the right slightly and Harry's mouth came crashing down on top of it.

A/N: if there are any questions about this story, feel free to ask. just so you know- I think this would be about four years after the war. Rosie being almost four years old and Hugo being about two and a half.